She is one of us here at AD, whom, after reading my "Love is...a mirage" wished I was writing about her.
Well, Mother Russia is a big land and although been there before, walking around the places Gorky did, never went to Ossetia (its half North or its half South)somewhere between the Black and the Caspian seas.
But, like a mirage I followed her gossamer desires to be talked of until a found her tender smile.

Dedicated to Liana Margiva



Maybe you were the Siren singing on
the Yenisey river from Krasmoyark,
when my defiant boat in dense fog
sailed in search of far away Dudikna.

Or maybe you where there in my net
which I threw on the waters of Baikal,
to catch a fish to calm the old hunger
and with a wave you kissed my hand.

Or you was in the frozen steppes winds
caressing the face of an old riding Cossack,
or like a mournful echo at witches hours
by the Volga river on its boatmen’s back.

I look for you in the Tunguska fallen trees
among the emptiness of Podkamennaya,
until a babuska said, not here, you must go
to Petersburg, she’s in the Winter Palace.

A mirage? Was I following another illusion?
when a shadow man, a Rasputin most like
with a grave voice tell me to go south
until my feet walks on the Ossetia’s land.

She wishes in a song that I talked about her,
coming to her window like fingers of the sun,
caressing that little smiling face just once
to spell away the mirage with a little real love.


PS please check Liana Margiva, you will love her writings